


Le Deluge

by Cutebutpsycho



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1611017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cutebutpsycho/pseuds/Cutebutpsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft rubbed his face and stared into the bathroom mirror. “You can do this,” he hissed to himself. “You have embedded yourself into Serbian armies, posed as a Russian ambassador and played the role of so many other identities. You have survived Christmas dinner. You lived through Les Miserables. You can survive one night with Sally’s family.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Le Deluge

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I am greatly indebted to GS Jenner for all her help with proofreading, Britpicking and just coming up with random relatives for the numerous Donovan clan, as well as potluck ideas and other things. 
> 
> This is pretty much a sequel to Vermillion, but it's not required to read that to read this. But if you would like to read it, I won't lie in that I find it flattering.

_Whoever invented social media ought to be dragged out back and beaten with a rusty pipe_ , Sally thought to herself as she stared at an email from her mother:

_Sally --_

_I was reading Facebook when your cousin Laticia posted something about seeing you out and about with some man in a posh suit. She said you were pretty cozy for him. Are you dating someone?_

_Your nosey Mum_

_PS -- Are you coming to dinner on Sunday? We haven’t seen you in awhile and your dad is ready to file a missing persons report. How can we not see each other more often when we live in the same city? And don’t say your job, because that excuse only works for so long._

Sally closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. The email was still staring her in the face and not an unfortunate hallucination. It wasn’t Facebook’s fault -- although she harbored a great deal of bitterness towards it for speeding up the transmission of gossip amongst family and friends. The fault was in how large and tight-knit her family was. No one in the family could keep a secret for long because a cousin, auntie or friend would find out and then transmit the information to everyone.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of what to type. She could lie, but Mum would know better, especially since now the information network was on the alert. It had been a long -- very long, according to her family --  time since Sally had been seriously seeing someone, so she knew the family would be on the alert for any juicy gossip about her love life.

She stared at the screen, then began typing out a message.

_Mum --_

_I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you sure Laticia saw me? There’s a lot of light brown women out there with curly hair._

_As for Sunday, I’ll see about my schedule._

_Love,_

_Sally_

A pang of guilt reverberated through her as she clicked on “send” and she knew the truth would come out soon enough. But for now, this would buy her enough time to prepare for the oncoming storm.

~*~

“I don’t understand what you’re so worried about,” Molly said after a particularly brutal workout. “I’ve met your family and they’re lovely. Your mum is so sweet.”

Sally bent forward, working the kinks out of her back. “That’s because we never dated. She treats my friends differently than the old boyfriends I used to bring over.” She breathed in deeply, then exhaled. “My family is a little protective when it comes to my love life.”

“And it doesn’t help dating someone who doesn’t like people -- apart from you,” Molly said, then wiped her face with a towel. “I mean, there’s a lot of people in your family -- kind of surprising, given that you’re an only child.”

“Mum’s brothers emigrated over shortly after she did,” Sally said “They brought their families, then there’s Dad’s side, where he has five siblings. And they married and had kids, except Uncle Davie. And now those kids are married with kids, plus there’s  the stepchildren and step-cousins and step-aunties and uncles, so we’ve taken over London,” she blew a bit of hair out of her face. “Rather it feels like it sometimes. That’s why I don’t live in Shepherd’s Bush. Too many family members there.”

“What are you going to do?” Molly asked as they headed to the locker room.

“I don’t know,” Sally shrugged. “He’s been busy lately, so we haven’t had a chance to talk and I need to break this news to him first.”

They showered and dressed, then headed out for a quick cup of coffee at the corner cafe, all the while chatting about other things -- Sherlock, work, the telly and plans to go see a concert later that month. For Sally, it was a welcome distraction from the biggest worries she had.

“Thinking about Mycroft?” Molly asked, after a moment of silence between the two of them. She was studying Sally’s expression, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Sally nodded.

“These are the things you do in a relationship,” Molly pointed out. “You two can’t keep going on living in that bubble forever -- as nice as it is.”

“Says the woman who got secretly married.”

Molly primly sipped her coffee. “We were impatient and we didn’t want to spend a lot of money on frippery,” she replied. “And really, if there was a huge wedding, we’d have to deal with the media and you know how much I would have loved that,” she made the last phrase sound like she was talking about an invasive gynecological procedure.

“This is why I don’t want to get married,” Sally joked. “Too much of a headache.”

“Ah, but what makes you think you’re not married already?” Molly grinned back. “He could’ve filed the paperwork without you knowing.”

Sally chuckled. “Great. That’s another thing I’ll have to explain to Mum and Dad. I’m sure they’ll love that one.”

~*~

“We aren’t married are we?”

Mycroft started out of his reverie and glanced over at Sally, who was stretched out next to him in bed. She was laying on her side and studying him carefully. It was one of those nights he spent in her flat -- not that either of them had formally moved into each other’s domicile. Mycroft kept a few toiletries at Sally’s flat as well as a clean set of clothing for the next morning and he knew that Sally had the same at his flat. It was best to be prepared, they had agreed, while in the next breath, they agreed they couldn’t picture setting up house together.

“No, we are not married,” he said dryly.

“Just checking,” Sally said, with a slight smile on her lips. “After all, I wouldn’t be surprised if you pulled something without my knowledge to expand your powers.”

“You underestimate my powers.”

Something was bothering Sally. She was worrying her bottom lip and her entire body vibrated with barely-repressed nervous energy. Mycroft rolled to his side and studied her face. “Your mother emailed you,” he said. “She’s found out.”

Her eyes widened in surprise and Mycroft felt an odd flush of pride knowing he surprised her. “I do keep an eye on social media,” he preened, “it’s most useful for my work and you’ll be amazed at what people will say online that proves to be useful later.”

“Are you stalking my family?” Sally asked, with no malice in her voice.

“Your cousins need to check their privacy settings,” he said. “And they need to stop friending random people. It’s remarkably easy to find out what’s going on with your family given what they’re willing to broadcast online.”

“Which is why I’m not online,” Sally chuckled as she nestled herself against him, her hair tickling his nose, until he reached up and smoothed it down. “So you saw my cousin’s announcement?”

He hummed an affirmative. “All capital letters and the entire tone was of pride,” he replied. “Bit cheeky in my opinion”

“She’s always been cheeky,” Sally murmured. “Just wants to be the first to spread the news about me, given that I don’t like to tell people about my love life. It’s none of their business.”

“So what did you tell your mother?”

Sally mumbled something into his chest.

“Sorry?”

She looked up at him, “I didn’t say anything,” she said. “Asked if she was sure that it was my cousin who saw us and then said I might be free on Sunday for dinner.”

“Of course,” he reassured, even though he hadn’t seen this emotion out of her. Sally was _scared_. “Do you want to tell your parents?”

She pulled away from him and stared at the ceiling. Mycroft could tell she was worried, but for reasons that seemed superficial to him. “I do and I don’t,” she began. “We have this nice thing with the two of us and now my family is banging at the door.”

“But you are also fond of your family and their opinion is very important to you,” Mycroft continued. “And you know we can’t keep this charade up for much longer.”

She murmured an agreement.

“And unlike my family, you actually do care about what they think and interact with them often in a loving manner, so their opinion matters, even if you like to say it does not.”

Sally smiled. “I do think that if you stopped taking your parents to those horrible musicals, you’d actually enjoy their company.”

He snorted. “Doubtful,” he said. “Those wretched things are the only thing that keeps them from nagging me. There’s a reason why I will tolerate them.” Mycroft rose, leaning on his elbow as he looked down and studied her for a moment. “Are you suggesting that you want me to meet your family?”

“I know you hate people --” she began.

“I do,” he said. “But if you would like me to do this --”

She took a deep breath. “OK,” she said. “I’ll email Mum. She was hinting at Sunday dinner.”

“I will keep my schedule available,” Mycroft replied, before lowering himself for a kiss. “If this will help you relax and go to sleep, I will meet your family.”

Sally smiled. “Thank you,” she said, before snuggling into him. Even though she appeared to be content, there was still a knot of worry located between her shoulder blades that not even his absentminded touch could eliminate.

~*~

_Mum --_

_I looked at my schedule and I can make Sunday dinner. Can I bring a guest?_

_Sally_

~*~

Sherlock surveyed Mycroft’s desk, which -- for once -- was covered with stacks of files. He glanced over at his brother and smiled.

“Planning a reconnaissance trip to Wales?” he asked. “Are you going to be embedding yourself into the Cardiff city government?”

Mycroft leaned back in his chair and snorted. “I assume that is your attempt at humor,” he replied. “Use your intelligence -- why do you think I have these files on my desk?”

Sherlock’s lips turned into a lupine smile as his eyes began to glitter with excitement as they quickly scanned Mycroft’s desk. “I can’t believe how devoted you are to Sally Donovan,” he began chuckling. “So devoted that you are going to endure meeting her family?”

“It is one evening,” Mycroft said. “Sunday dinner. A few hours that will feel like a few years of my life due to the interminably dull conversation. It will be like Christmas, but hopefully less frequent.”

Sherlock’s smile turned into a smirk. “You are nervous,” he crowed.

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“The clues are all here,” Sherlock continued. “The fact that you are going through the personal information of her entire family means you are learning about her family -- to try and create the best impression?”

“Hardly,” Mycroft retorted. “You know I prefer to be thoroughly informed of a situation before I encounter it.”

“This isn’t an extraction or undercover work,” Sherlock started to chuckle. “It is a meeting with your paramour’s family. You want to present the best impression, which is why you are preparing for this meeting as if you were meeting with the Russian delegation.”

“Your use of the word ‘paramour’ is a blatant display of your sentiment,” Mycroft leaned back in his chair. “And I did not call you here to advise me on how to appear as a normal --” he shuddered at that word, “person. I asked you to come and sign some forms so I can be allowed to continue in my assistance in protecting your wife.” He tossed the folder over to Sherlock.

Sherlock picked the folder up, opened it and rifled through some of the papers, before signing it. “Thank you,” he said, his expression softening for a moment. “If you need additional information, Molly would be amiable to meeting with you for her insights. Apparently the Donovan clan is quite fond of her. I didn’t realize the depth of their affection until recently.”

Mycroft arched an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “How did you discover this?”

“I was in a cab a month ago and the driver told me, ‘You better take good care of Doctor Hooper,’” Sherlock’s voice shifted into a Cockney accent. “‘Because if you hurt her, you’ll have to answer to us,’” Sherlock smiled at the memory, but the mirth didn’t reach his eyes.

Sherlock stood, donned his coat and grinned down at Mycroft. “Now brother mine,” he said, “If they were happy to warn me because of my relationship with Molly Hooper, what do you think they would do to you if you hurt their dear, sweet daughter?”

“What makes you think I’m not already aware of that?” Mycroft replied. “Remember, I have dealt with terrorists, anarchists and you. I can handle one night with the Donovan clan.”

Sherlock chuckled, “In that case, I shall leave you to your work,” he said, “Good luck with your mission.”

“It is not luck. It is preparation and anticipation,” Mycroft retorted. “You should know that by now.”

~*~

It was obvious he was preparing for Sunday, Sally thought as the warm and rich scent of steaks searing enveloped her and she watched Mycroft putter around the kitchen, working on some mysterious sauce. When he greeted her at his flat with a velvety pinot noir, he also bombarded her with questions about her family and their inner workings.

Not that she minded -- she understood that this was pure Mycroft. Assess the situation, learn as much as possible about the players, compute the variables in what could occur and then act. In a strange way, Sally was flattered. Past boyfriends hadn’t shown the same interest in her family that he did, choosing to go in blind into meeting with her family, which often ended badly. Either they were too familiar with her parents (one ex called them “Jill” and “Gaz” when their names were Jalissa and Gareth) or excessively nervous and tried to fit in at all costs (another should have never said he loved hot curries, because her family took that as a challenge. Sally sometimes wondered if his tastebuds healed after that dinner).

“Your family is gossiping about this,” Mycroft remarked as he refilled her wine glass.

Sally smiled, “They will,” she replied. “This is big news to them. I haven’t brought home anyone in years. So what are they gossiping about?”

Mycroft took the pan off the stove and placed it into the oven to let the steaks finish cooking. Closing the door, he wiped his hands, then poured himself a glass of wine. “They are excited that you’re bringing ‘a guest’, as they put it. There’s much speculation floating about as to who it could be, but most guess I’m a barrister that you met through work, or a friend of Dr. Hooper’s,” he took a sip, then checked the green beans. “One cousin is suggesting that it’s serious, whatever it is, because you’re bringing them to dinner -- none of these things are unusual speculation,” he glanced over at her. “But I couldn’t parse out one bit of information --”

“Really?” Sally couldn’t hide her surprise.

“What -- or who -- is Aunt Tessie?”

Sally began laughing as her cheeks reddened. “They were not discussing that online,” she said.

“They were.”

She began laughing harder, “Oh my God,” she said after she caught her breath. “This is so embarrassing. You’re going to think my family is a bunch of serial killers.”

“Sherlock would be thrilled to know that,” Mycroft deadpanned. “It would keep him happily occupied for about a month.”

Sally took a big gulp of her wine. “So you know how people have rituals and traditions?”

“Silly, but yes,” Mycroft replied.

“Dad’s family has Aunt Tessie,” Sally began.

“Who is she?”

“Dear eccentric Aunt Tessie died a long time ago and was cremated. She’s a great-great-great-aunt or something like that. Her ashes were given to Dad’s family and they’ve been using them to induct people into the Donovan clan.”

An eyebrow quirked on Mycroft’s face. He was definitely curious.

“When someone gets engaged or is brought to the family for approval, to say that they’re part of the family, we bring Aunt Tessie out. And you have to drink a pint with a pinch of her ashes in it,” Sally said the last sentence very quickly. “It’s been going on forever. Aunt Tessie even requested that this happen with her remains because she was that protective over her family. She even wrote it in her will and signed it with her own hand, that’s how serious she was about this.”

Mycroft blinked. Sally felt proud that she rattled him for a moment, even if it was something embarrassing about her family.

“I know it’s odd --”

“Have any of the people you were involved with taken Aunt Tessie?” Mycroft asked.

Sally shook her head. “No,” she said. “They were offered, but they declined.”

“And the relationships ended shortly afterwards?”

She nodded, knowing he’d understand why.

“Of course they would end,” Mycroft mused. “It’s a rejection of your family. Logically there is nothing to worry about with drinking a pint with a pinch of cremated human remains once in your life. It goes against convention, but it’s also a testament of affection. How far are you willing to go for someone? What are you willing to do for love?”

“They were willing to do anything for love, but they wouldn’t do that,” Sally couldn’t help herself with the joke.

Mycroft’s lips twisted into a smile for a moment. “Did you warn them about Aunt Tessie?”

“No. I guess that I thought they --”

“They had a bravado that made you calculate that they would do it without question,” Mycroft continued. “And you wanted to test them.”

“Love me, love my family.”

“So why did you tell me?” Mycroft pulled the steaks out of the oven and began plating them. “You could have easily evaded or made up an insane relative.”

“You would know that’s not true,” she replied. “I can’t hide anything from you and I find telling you the truth easier than trying to evade it. I also know you hate surprises --”

“And you want to make sure that this goes smoothly,” Mycroft approached Sally and put his arms around her waist.

“Yes,” she said. “The others I didn’t worry about because they weren’t like you. I thought they could handle it and they couldn’t.” _And maybe I want to give you the best chance possible because I love you,_ she thought. “If they can’t, how will a misanthropic genius like you react?”

He kissed her and she felt the mood lighten. Then he kissed her again and she could feel the promise that things would be fine. He pulled away.

“You forget -- I have dealt with hostile terrorists and posed as other people for my work. I will not let you down,” Mycroft pulled away. “Now let us eat before dinner gets cold.”

Sally felt the tension ease in her shoulders. “What’s on the menu?”

“Club steak with vodka sauce, green beans and roasted potatoes,” he said.

“No pudding?” she smiled playfully, “I may as well leave now.”

“Pudding will be later,” the lascivious tone in his voice, while rare, was unmistakable. “ I was think of something drenched in honey.”

~*~

A few days later, Sunday arrived and Sally and Mycroft found themselves standing in front of the door of her parents’ house. Already the sounds of a large party were leaking out of the house. Sally glanced over at Mycroft and squeezed his hand.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

He nodded once. “It’s only for a few hours correct?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “If worse comes to worst, we can always fake a head injury and leave. Or you can pull some strings and create an international incident where you have to leave.”

A chuckle escaped from his lips and he squeezed her hand back in a gesture of solidarity. “It should be fine,” he said. “It is only one night.”

A slightly hysterical laugh burst out of Sally, but before he could ask more about it, the door burst open. A tall, greying man with a full beard dressed in a jumper and khaki trousers glared down at them.

“Who the hell are you?” he barked at them. Mycroft instantly recognized the man as Gareth Donovan, Sally’s father. What he did not anticipate was the antagonistic tone in the man’s voice. No matter, that could be accommodated, he thought to himself.

“I’m your daughter,” Sally snapped back.

“I don’t have a daughter,” he snorted. “Unless you’re talking about the girl who likes to play detective and avoid her family.”

Mycroft could hear Sally’s eyes rolling. “Fine,” she said. “If I’m not your daughter, I’m just going to take this bloke home with me and the bottle of Appleton Estate is all mine.” Turning, she grabbed Mycroft’s arm, spun him around and started to frog march him away from the house. They were two steps down the path before Gareth bounded after them, gathering his daughter up in a big hug and swinging her around.

“Well, since you brought some really excellent rum, you can stay,” he said, kissing her on the cheek, ignoring her protests about his beard scratching her skin.

Mycroft stood there feeling out of place for a moment with the family intimacy. But before the moment went too long, Gareth pulled away and stared at Mycroft.

“So you brought a guest?” he elbowed Sally.

Sally’s cheeks turned pink. “Dad, this is Mycroft,” she nodded at Mycroft.

Gareth studied him for a moment, then his eyes slid over to Sally. There was something unspoken between the two of them, before he extended his hand. “Mycroft,” he said.

Mycroft took his hand. “Mr. Donovan,” he said.

Gareth glanced over at Sally and began laughing. “Oh my,” he said. “Where did you find this one? Mum’s going to have a lot of fun with this one when she’s done with Uncle Charlie.”

“Oh God,” Sally began. “What now?”

“Oh you didn’t hear? He got Freddie evicted from the nursing home.”

“What?”

“Guess who thought he could keep Freddie’s dogs while Freddie was recovering in the old folks’ home? And guess who smuggled the dogs to Freddie’s room at night? And guess whose dogs ate a parakeet?”

Sally began laughing.

“Oh don’t you laugh in front of Mum,” Gareth interrupted. “She is livid and the house is filled with --”

Three dogs -- a German shepard, a mutt of indeterminable mix and a tiny little mop -- came ripping out of the house, dancing around Sally’s legs and barking like mad. Gareth and Sally snapped at the dogs, but they didn’t heed their commands.

“Sit,” Mycroft growled.

The dogs sat.

“Nice work,” Sally said, her face glowing with admiration. “Never pictured you as a dog person.”

“Sherlock had one,” Mycroft said. “Dammed thing insisted on eating my shoes.”

“Sherlock?” Gareth raised an eyebrow. “Holmes?”

Sally nodded.

“He is my younger brother,” Mycroft replied. “The bane of my existence.”

Gareth studied him for a moment. Mycroft knew he was putting the pieces together and wondering why his daughter would be in a relationship with the older brother of someone she considered exasperating.

“Well then,” Gareth said. “Are you ready to enter the fray? Nikka has been asking about you and Meggie wants to challenge you to a video game.”

Sally smiled a big, bright smile, then glanced over at Mycroft.

He offered a curt nod.

“Let’s go,” Sally said, taking his arm as Gareth led them into the house.

The first thing that struck Mycroft was how crowded the house was -- as they entered the tiny entryway, the volume in the house was louder than the exterior indicated. A cacophony of reggae and pop blared along with the electronic tones of video game sound effects hit him as he was led into the house. There wasn’t open silence anywhere -- a wall of sound surrounded him.

Once inside, Gareth took Sally’s coat and glanced over at Mycroft.

“I’m feeling a bit chilled,” he said. “If you don’t mind, I would like to keep my suitcoat on.”

Gareth raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he took Sally’s coat.

“Are you all right?” Sally asked.

Before Mycroft could open his mouth to answer a tall, skinny black girl, no older than ten, bounded over, thick braids bouncing, to Sally and hugged her. “Auntie Sally!” the girl screeched as she attempted to climb Sally. “Are you staying for dinner?”

Sally nodded as she picked the girl up and kissed the girl on the cheek.

“Yay!” the girl screamed as she wrapped her legs around Sally’s waist to hold on.

“Manners, Ruthie,” Sally said, “I brought a guest.”

Ruthie whipped her head around, her braids hitting Sally in the face, to study Mycroft. “You have a boyfriend?” she asked, obviously savvy to the significance of Mycroft’s arrival. “He looks like a toff.”

“His name is Mycroft,” Sally said. “Don’t be so cheeky.”

Ruthie’s eyes were dark and expressive, like Sally’s, Mycroft observed. For a moment he wondered if that was what Sally was like at age ten -- all skinny legs and arms and smart mouth. He locked away that thought for later.

Ruthie held out her hand. “Hello Mycroft,” she said carefully. “How are you?”

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Mycroft shook her hand. “I am fine, and you?”

“Happy,” Ruthie smiled shyly. She turned her attention back to Sally. “Meggie and Nikka are waiting for you also,” she said. “Meggie said she got a higher score than you on Just Dance.”

“She did not,” Sally said, with theatrical shock. “What song?’

“Starships,” Ruthie wiggled down and grabbed Sally’s hand. “Come on,” she said impatiently.

Sally let go of Ruthie’s hand, “In a moment,” she said. “Let me show Mycroft around. He’s my guest, so I have to make sure he’s comfortable first.”

Ruthie skittered off to the lounge screaming, “SHE’S HERE! SHE ALSO BROUGHT HER BOYFRIEND! HE LOOKS LIKE A TOFF.”

“I KNEW IT!” they heard a female voice shout. “I KNEW SHE WAS HIDING HIM FROM US!”

Sally glanced over at Mycroft. “Well,” she said with a small smile, “I think that you have a title now, whether you wanted one or not.”

“It was bound to happen,” he said. “Even though I am not a boy, nor your friend.”

“Yes, but ‘Light of my life and fire of my loins,’ is worse,” She took his hand and led him through the lounge, where adults and children were watching two girls twist and twirl to a video game on the television. Some children were yelling advice, while other adults sang along to the song or chatted in corners as they nursed glasses of beer. Even though the noise never abated, Mycroft could feel everyone’s eyes skitter in their direction as she led him to the kitchen.

“Oi! Sally!” he heard one person say, “Who’s the swot?”

“Mycroft,” she called back. “You’ll get your chance with him later. If I don’t present him to Mum first, she’ll murder me.”

The entire room erupted into hoots and catcalls. He could hear someone burst out with, “Toffy and Sally sitting in a tree --”

“Now you don’t know why I bring people over often,” Sally said over her shoulder to him. She rolled her eyes. “They can be so annoying.”

“ -- I swear to God keep those damn dogs in the garden Charlie or else I will --” a woman with a lilting Jamaican accent shouted as Sally led him into the kitchen.

“I’m taking them, I’m taking them, calm down woman,” another voice answered back.

The kitchen, was packed with women all bustling about putting foil-topped trays down on countertops and men moving from the lounge to the attached conservatory/dining area with bottles of beer in their hands. Mycroft heard the sounds of three dogs barking as they were hustled out the back door. The pop music of the lounge shifted jarringly into reggae as the beats refused to match up, which irritated Mycroft.

A short, compactly built black woman wearing a long teal skirt and white t-shirt that was partially covered up by a coral cardigan. She was in the middle of the room directing the action. Her curly grey hair was short and a pair of bright red glasses were perched on her nose. Like Sally, she had a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks and the authoritative air of someone who knew exactly what she wanted and how she wanted it.

She spun around and stared at Sally. Then her eyes moved to Mycroft. He felt his posture straightening more, if that was even possible.

“You --” she began, her face lighting up, but the tone of her voice chiding.

“I know, I know,” Sally couldn’t say more before she was swept up in a hug with her mother and smothered with kisses. The room stopped and all the women were staring at the three of them -- Sally and her mother hugging, Mycroft suddenly feeling like he wanted to blend into the floor or the sunny yellow walls.

Her mother pulled back. “Now where’s the rum?” she asked, checking her daughter’s arms. Then she focused her eyes on Mycroft, who was holding the bottle.

“I hope you like Appleton Estate,” Mycroft began.

“I do,” she said, plucking the bottle from his arms. “Jalissa Donovan.”

“Mycroft Holmes.”

All the women in the room cackled. Jalissa smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she held her hand out and he shook it. Her grip was firm and the way she met his eyes conveyed the message, _I might like you now, but I will destroy you if I need to._

Before more could be said, a preteen white girl with frizzy brown hair bounced into the room. “Is dinner ready yet?”

“No,” an older woman in leopard print said. “When it’s ready, we will call you, now get out.”

“Good,” the girl said, before grabbing Sally’s arm. “Come on Auntie Sally, I want to see if you can beat my Starships score.”

Sally glanced over at Mycroft, “I did promise them --” she said helplessly. “Will you be fine?”

He didn’t get a chance to answer before she was swallowed up by the press of people and noise.

Mycroft felt the press of a glass in his hand and he glanced over to see Gareth handing him a pint glass full of Red Stripe, judging by the aroma.

“Make yourself at home,” Gareth said, motioning to the lounge. “You should see Sally dance to this game.”

He nodded, then plunged himself back into the wall of noise and music.

~*~

If she could be still for a moment, she’d be embarrassed, but she had a record to protect.

“Bad bitches like me, is hard to come by,” the song blared from the screens as Sally followed the motions of the dancer, Wii controller firmly gripped in her hand.

Next to her Meggie followed the dancer’s movements with the same intensity as Sally.

“You worried about your boyfriend?” Meggie teased.

“You should be worried about your record,” Sally shot back as she executed a difficult spin combination. “We’re higher than a motherfucka,” she sang under her breath as she began jumping.

For a moment, she couldn’t tell if she was following the dancer or if the dancer was following her, which was a good sign in her book. She could hear the kids cheering on Meggie, while the adults were calling for Sally to show Meggie who was boss.

She could feel Mycroft’s gaze on her, and for a brief moment she wondered what he was thinking -- if he was mortified by her actions, her competition with a child and the trash-talking -- but then Nicki Minaj’s encouraged her to put her hands up and touch the sky, and for a moment, she didn’t care as she waved her arms and spun around.

The song faded out and Sally studied her and Meggie’s score. “Ha!” she crowed, laughing as she hugged Meggie. “You still need to work against me.”

Meggie grumbled as she hugged Sally, but she could tell it was good-natured grousing. Releasing her cousin, Sally glanced around the room, looking for Mycroft. She found him, leaning against the doorframe sipping a beer, suitcoat unbuttoned  and her father standing next to him. Gareth whispered something in Mycroft’s ear and she could see Mycroft smile in her direction. It was one of his rare smiles, where there wasn’t sarcasm, plotting or scheming in the back of his mind. Just pure pleasure.

She smiled back. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be such a disaster.

~*~

He knew she could dance. That was one of those things he quickly deduced about her -- her hyperextended knees, the way her feet would slide into different ballet stances as she stood in the kitchen. He even had danced with her in Bruges, in her flat, in his flat, twirling her around and feeling her heartbeat against his.

But that wasn’t the same as the frenetic energy of watching her move to the video game. Her hair bounced as she jumped and twirled. A wide smile, which he rarely saw, was plastered on her face as she was teasing her younger cousin.

The way her hips swiveled was breathtaking. The entire thing was just another burst of color in his life, and for a moment, he toyed with the idea of purchasing the game so he could watch her play. Especially if she continued to move her hips in that manner.

 _Where the hell did that idea come from?_ he shook his head, as he brought the glass up to his lips and drank.

“Having fun?” He heard Gareth, “You seem to enjoy watching her dance.”

Sally looked over at him and smiled and he could feel his mouth curve into a grin in response as he nodded. “I knew she was a good dancer,” he said, “But this is different.”

“She gets it from her mum’s side,” Gareth said. “You’ve got the same look I had on my face when I saw Jalissa dancing at a party.”

Mycroft colored, annoyed that his thoughts were so obvious.

Gareth chuckled as he sipped his beer. “Don’t be upset son,” he said. “Broughton women are magic. I should know. You can think you’re the most composed and collected man on Earth and then they come along and  knock you sideways. It’s what they do.”

Before more could be said, Jalissa entered the room and clapped her hands.

“Dinner is ready,” she bellowed.

There was a clamoring stampede as the kids ran to the kitchen and the adults stood up and slowly made their way over for dinner.

Sally made her way over to Mycroft, grinning. “I hope you brought your appetite,” she said.

“It smells lovely,” he replied, offering his arm. “Are you hungry?”

“After that?” Sally chuckled. “I may need a beer first, then dinner.”

Dinner was a mish-mash of items that included rice and beans, fried plantains, Auntie Annie’s curried goat (“It’s the best,” Sally assured Mycroft. “She’s famous for it.”) and jerk chicken along with sausage rolls and toad in the hole for the children. A tuna and sweet corn quiche sat forlornly in the corner of the table along with a takeaway container of fried chicken. Following Sally’s lead, Mycroft took a little bit of everything, ignoring the fried chicken.

“I don’t even know why my cousin Johnny does this,” Sally whispered in his ear. “He’s such a cheap bastard. Every time we do this, he either gets a cheap bucket of greasy chicken or offers to bring cups. Not the soda, just the cups.”

Sally glanced over at him, observing his bemused expression. “Wait,” she said, grinning, “Tell me you’ve had a potluck before.”

“I have not.”

Her face brightened up and she tried to suppress a giggle. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” he said. “We were fairly isolated as children,” he said. “I don’t remember really meeting other children until Sherlock and then for some reason my parents thought we should have been properly socialized.”

“That explains so much,” Sally chuckled, as she led him to the back conservatory where a table was made up and the adults were sitting around the table. Her parents had saved two seats for them -- obviously a place of honor -- and Sally quickly did introductions.

Mycroft managed to get a few bites of food before the questions started.

“How did you meet?” Jalissa opened up the questioning.

Sally smiled. “Interdepartmental meeting,” she said. “He was there to offer advice on efficiency and time management.”

Mycroft nodded, inwardly impressed at the smoothness of her story. “I asked her to coffee and at first, she said no,” he said, beginning to spin the tale.

“But after some time working together --” Sally continued.

“She asked me for coffee and I couldn’t resist,” Mycroft finished.

“So what do you do Mycroft?” Gareth asked.

Inwardly Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief. This was simple and easy to navigate, which was necessary after the din earlier. “I am a consultant to civil service,” he began.

“What’s that mean?” asked Uncle Charlie -- a grizzled, short black man, who Mycroft guessed to be about 140 pounds, 139 of which was pure muscle. He wore a t-shirt where his biceps strained against the fabric. Scars lined his face from past boxing matches and he had merry twinkle in his eyes.

“It means when they need help, they call him,” Sally said.

“So everyone’s a consultant now,” her Auntie Annie -- an older white woman with a short bob in a leopard print dress and red cardigan -- snorted into her food. “I’m amazed people can make money in that profession,” she looked Mycroft over. “But you look like you haven’t had to worry about that have you Taffy?”

Mycroft inwardly winced at the mutilation of the nickname. Toff was probably better than being called Mykie or Oxbridge, but the change to Taffy just was getting into the realm of ridiculous. It also didn’t help that he could feel Sally shudder slightly in suppressed laughter.

“I have been blessed to have certain privileges,” he said tactfully.

“So what’s with the ring?” Auntie Annie asked, eying his left hand. “You married?”

Mycroft glanced at his hand and stared at the band. “It’s from a relative,” he said. “Heirloom.” He wasn’t going to admit that the ring was embedded with a GPS and if was removed from his hand, things were going to get complicated very quickly.

“That you wear on your left hand? The only time I see that is when someone’s married.”

Sally rolled her eyes. “He’s not married,” she interrupted. “For pity’s sake, I’m a copper, of course I would have checked out his background to see if he was married before I went out with him.”

“But were you married?” Auntie Annie persisted, after taking a sip of her beer.

“Never,” Mycroft replied.

“So do you want to get married?”

Mycroft nearly choked on his curry. _I should just hire Aunt Annie for interrogations_ , he thought, as he swallowed hard on the food. He glanced over at Sally.

“We hadn’t thought of it to be honest,” she began.

“Really, it’s up to her --”

“Him,” Sally said at the same time. “We’ve only been seeing each other for a few months.”

“Ah,” Jalissa began, “But you never bring home anyone, so whenever this happens we know it’s serious. It’s not like your cousins, who bring home anyone and everyone. You bring home the ones you’re serious about.”

Sally blushed. “Yes, I am serious about him,” she snapped back. “Isn’t this what you do when you’re serious about someone?”

“So is she your girlfriend?” Auntie Annie asked.

“I prefer not to use the term,” Mycroft said, “Sally is an adult woman.”

“Are you afraid to say she’s with you?” Uncle Charlie broke in.

Jalissa and Gareth were grinning at this, Mycroft observed. He wondered if the family had an unspoken agreement to have the aunties and uncles unleash the questions so they would look thoroughly diplomatic during dinner.

“I am not afraid to say she is with me,” he said. “I would not have come to dinner if I was afraid to say that. Also, if you know us, you know our relationship. I can not help it if people are nosy and thick and demand titles for things that are none of their business.”

Uncle Charlie snorted and Auntie Annie smiled wryly. That seemed to satisfy them for a bit as everyone returned to eating. Then, after her second beer, Auntie Annie dug in again.

“You do seem kind of old to have never been married,” she began, looking at him seriously. “Did you have your heart broken as a young man?”

Sally’s face went ashen and she began coughing hard on her meal. The sausage roll, which was delicious, now tasted mealy in Mycroft’s mouth.

“No,” he began. “If you want the truth, I do not like most people. Sally is perhaps the only person whose company I truly enjoy.”

Auntie Annie studied him. “I wonder why that is,” she muttered into her food.

Mycroft wiped his mouth with the paper serviette and stood, “Where are the facilities?” he asked.

Sally pointed to a small room off the kitchen. He bent down and kissed her on the cheek, before turning to head to the bathroom.

“Twenty quid says he climbs out the window,” he overheard Uncle Charlie say, before they started cackling.

“There isn’t even a window in there,” Gareth chuckled.

“Oh, but I’d wager he’d make one.”

The bathroom was tiny -- enough room for a toilet and a sink and painted a bright blue. Mycroft rubbed his face and stared into the bathroom mirror. “You can do this,” he hissed to himself. “You have embedded yourself into Serbian armies, posed as a Russian ambassador and played the role of so many other identities. You have survived Christmas dinner. You lived through Les Miserables. You can survive one night with Sally’s family.”

He blinked and stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, then heaved a sigh. The hard part about this was that he wasn’t assuming a different identity, but a different version of himself. A version of himself who enjoyed being around people and their intrusive questions. This was going to be harder than he thought.

There was a knock on the door. “It’s me,” Sally said.

Mycroft opened the door and she edged her way in. The bathroom was so small they were standing chest to chest.

She slid her arms around his waist. “Hey,” she said.

He felt himself relaxing in her arms, his breathing slowly matching hers.

“It’ll be fine,” Sally said. “Auntie Annie likes to give everyone a hard time. But you did fine.” She kissed him gently.

“What did you tell them?”

She shrugged. “It’s none of their fucking business how we are and what we do,” she said.

“They are relentless.”

“I know,” she nestled up against him, not that she could do much else. “Where do you think I get it from?”

Mycroft chuckled. Sally pulled back and smiled up at him. “We should go back,” he said.

“You’re right,” she replied. “Next thing you know they’re going to be making speculations about us hiding out in the loo.”

“Someone is out twenty quid because I didn’t make a window in here,” Mycroft grumbled, only to have Sally giggle in response.

Her hand snaked backwards and opened the door. With her other hand, she held his and pulled him out of the bathroom and back into the fray.

~*~

Gareth Donovan was a simple man. He spoke plainly and enjoyed simple pleasures like puttering around in the garden, watching Fulham football games with a nice beer, reading a good spy novel and the company of his friends and family.

And right now he was greatly enjoying Sunday dinner. Even more importantly, he was enjoying the fact that his daughter had carved out some time to visit and had brought the reason for her absences. He knew that she was seeing someone before the Facebook announcement -- he was also quite sure Jalissa knew also -- but they didn’t pry, because that would’ve made Sally more elusive.

True, Mycroft was a bit of fussy toff and the brother of an utter bastard (what dear Molly Hooper saw in Sherlock, Gareth would never understand, but as he knew by now, love isn’t logical) and when Sally first presented him Gareth wasn’t sure if it was a joke. The swot wouldn’t even take his suitcoat off, making him look like an auditor come to see if sausage rolls were heated to the right temperature.

But then he saw Mycroft’s face as Sally soundly beat Meggie at Just Dance. He was trying to be cool, but affection and desire were plainly marked on his face. Gareth remembered when he first had that expression -- over forty years ago as he watched Jalissa shimmy to Dee Dee Sharp’s What Kind of Lady. The poor bastard was completely besotted, Gareth knew that from experience.

Dinner was without a doubt, entertaining as Annie and Charlie both dug into him with gusto and there was the momentary delay in events as Sally extracted him from the washroom, but that was to be expected. Annie and Charlie had that effect on people.

The rest of the meal went smoothly and Sally was recruited into helping wash up, while the women shooed Mycroft outside.

“For God’s sake, you’re just getting underfoot,” Annie chided Mycroft.

Gareth gave it about ten minutes before he headed outside to join Mycroft, who was surrounded by people peppering him with questions. The poor boy looked like a harried cat surrounded by a bunch of bouncy puppies, which made Gareth chuckle inwardly. It also didn’t help the three dogs kept circling Mycroft, sniffing at his shoes as he swatted at them. Obviously the man only wanted to smoke his cigarette in peace, but that wasn’t going to happen.

“So what, were your parents hippies or something?” he overheard someone ask.

There was a definite edge to Mycroft’s voice. “I was named after an uncle,” he said.

“So they lost a bet when they named your brother Sherlock?”

Mycroft sighed. “Also an uncle,” he answered.

“Are you as smart as Sherlock?” Eddie asked. Eddie was a young boy around ten, a grand-nephew or something like that -- titles always escaped Gareth.

“Smarter,” Mycroft preened.

“You can’t be,” Gareth’s nephew Johnny said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be dating her. She’s a tough one. Kind of snotty also.”

Gareth snorted. Johnny and Sally never got along -- ever since they were children, they both gleefully took swipes at each other and even as adults, Sally refused to take Johnny’s teasing, choosing to tell him off whenever possible.

“I am smarter and unlike Sherlock, I don’t need to show off,” Mycroft said. “Sally is her own woman. What you call tough, I call independent and self-possessed. What you call snotty --” his voice had a peevish tone, “I would say is a healthy disrespect for authority, a necessary skepticism at times, especially in her line of work.”

Gareth smiled, as he watched Mycroft continued to field questions from the cousins. Perhaps the toff would survive in the family after all. Not that he’d tell him that. Watching newcomers survive the gauntlet was another simple pleasure he rarely encountered anymore, so he intended to savor every minute of it.

~*~

“Gareth!” Jalissa banged on the window, “Go and rescue Sally’s toff. He looks like he’s ready to leap over the garden gate.”

“Oh God,” Sally sighed, as she finished wiping down a counter. “What is going on out there?”

“Just the usual,” Auntie Annie said. “The boys are talking, nothing unusual.”

Cousin Laticia chuckled. “He looked utterly miserable during dinner,” she observed. “Frankly I’m surprised you brought him around. He doesn’t look like the usual type.”

“You’re the one who blew the whistle,” Sally pointed out. “With the family on alert, you know there was no way to keep this private.”

“But he’s special enough to bring around?” Laticia shot back. “I dunno. He just seems kind of like Spock for my taste.”

“Which would make you Uhura,” Auntie Annie said with a broad smile.

Sally rolled her eyes, “He’s not that bad,” she began.

“Frankly it would’ve been easier on the eyes if you brought home the bloke who plays Kahn in that movie,” Laticia continued.

“You do know he’s a famous actor and I don’t get near those folks? And your obsession with him is just odd,” Sally said.

“He’s got a nice voice,” Laticia retorted.

“He does,” Auntie Annie added. “And he fills out a pair of swim trunks well.”

The entire room burst out laughing. “I don’t even want to know how you know that,” Jalissa said. “Let’s just stop right there.”

The women stopped talking as they finished up their chores, buoyed by the reggae playing in the kitchen. Children darted in and out of the room, snatching up bits of cake and biscuits, before running screaming out into the garden. The sound of chatter wafted into the kitchen as well as the sound of barking dogs and children’s shrieking.

Once that was done, Jalissa opened the bottle of rum and poured four glasses for the women as they leaned against the countertops and surveyed their work.

“Mycroft’s not Spock,” Sally began after a long silence. “He’s more reserved than that.”

The kitchen burst out into laughter at Sally’s comment.

“He just doesn’t seem like the usual guys,” Laticia continued. “And he seems like bit of a prick.”

“He’s not,” Sally said. “He -- he just doesn’t like most people.”

“That’s the definition of a prick,” added Auntie Annie. “Is he good in bed?”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer,” Sally blushed.

“He looks like a kinky fucker,” Auntie Annie persisted.

Jalissa cackled. “Stop it,” she said. “I do not want to even speculate on my grown daughter’s sex life,” she took a sip of rum, then mumbled into her glass, “He does look like a kinky fucker.”

Sally felt her face getting hotter. “Is this what happens when you’re invited to the grown-ups table?” she asked.

“Yes,” Jalissa and Auntie Annie said.

“And we’ll continue down this road until you give us answers as to why you brought that pinched-face auditor back here,” Laticia added.

Sally sighed. “You won’t believe me,” she said, “because you don’t see it, but he’s sweet in his own way. He’s a little odd, but he’s good. We work well together. He loves me.”

“And hates everyone else,” Auntie Annie interrupted with a wry smile.

“Not everyone,” Sally defended. “Just -- ninety-nine percent of the population.”

Jalissa sipped her rum and stared at Sally, “Let me be honest love,” she said, “If he hates everyone else, what does he think of us, your family?”

Sally avoided her mother’s gaze. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But he’s hung in longer than the others. He’s not afraid of Aunt Tessie.”

Auntie Annie and Jalissa shared a glance. “I think we’re going to hold off on Aunt Tessie,” Jalissa said.

Sally finished her drink in one swallow, then spoke, “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s getting late,” her mother said.

“It’s not even nine --” Sally protested.

“Your dad has a meeting in the morning,” Jalissa spoke over her daughter, “I’ve got work and people are leaving. Aunt Tessie is not coming out tonight.”

Sally’s ears and the back of her neck started to feel hot. “That doesn’t make sense,” she protested, her voice becoming shrill. “Normally you offer Aunt Tessie right off the bat. After all he’s been through --”

“Not now,” Gareth’s voice cut through the kitchen, deflating Sally’s anger. “It is late, your boy is looking haggard and everyone is preparing to leave anyway. Maybe another day.”

Sally spun around to see her father standing in the doorway, Mycroft right behind her, looking a bit worse for wear. The expression on her father’s face indicated that the answer was final and no matter how much she argued, she wasn’t going to win.

Her mouth twisted into a grimace. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

The goodbyes were awkward. Sally burned with righteous fury, but tried to have her best face. Mycroft remained polite. Despite the attempts to look civil, the way Sally slammed the door indicated her displeasure.

It wasn’t until everyone had left and things quieted down a bit that Jalissa finally spoke about what had happened. “Do you think she’ll understand?” she asked.

Gareth turned down the news program he was watching and took her hand. “We’ll see,” he said. “Besides that’s not the first time she slammed that door.”

Jalissa began laughing, “At least she didn’t slam it off the hinges like when she was sixteen.”

~*~

Mycroft had seen Sally angry before -- at times he was the target of her righteous fury -- but tonight’s pique was something that worried him. A sadness tinged her vexation and he could tell she was reviewing the night, questioning if her family had seen something in him that she had missed or if they were incorrect in their impression and rejection of him.

Even though a portion of him wanted to stay with her and offer comfort, Mycroft had to admit he was relieved when she said she wanted to be left alone. The entire evening had left him feeling exhausted in a different manner than his family visits. The background chatter still echoed in his brain and his shoulders ached from tension. He needed quiet.

Pouring himself a glass of Scotch, Mycroft sunk into his club chair and savored the silence. The events of the dinner gently unfurled themselves out for review, as well as Sally’s hurt and confusion as to how the evening ended, viewing the entire matter as an impartial observer and not invested party member.

The reasonings and motivations were teased out of the situation as Mycroft sipped his drink. A solution presented itself and he smiled. Sally may not be pleased with his methods, but he believed the probability was good that she would forgive him for this transgression. When one thought about the alternative, begging for her forgiveness for what he was about to do was the best outcome of all situations.

~*~

“They’ve never done this before,” Sally said into her phone as she studied the inside of her freezer.

“What do you mean?” Molly’s voice cut through the phone as Sally slammed the freezer shut. Of all the times to run out of ice cream, she ruefully cursed to the heavens. Why couldn’t Mycroft have noticed that she was running low and filled it for her?

Moving to the counter, Sally grabbed the bottle of rum and poured two fingers into a glass. Two large fingers. Sipping it, she finally spoke. “They always do Aunt Tessie right off the bat. First time they meet the man, they ask him if they’re interested in Aunt Tessie and this time they said no --”

“Which probably means they don’t approve of him,” Molly finished, before saying, “Stop cheering Sherlock, this is serious.”

Sally shook her head. “Tell Sherlock that if he thinks I’m nasty now, imagine what I’d be like without the regular dickings by his brother.”

She could hear Molly repeat the words and then an anguished groan from Sherlock. “He’s currently rocking back and forth on the sofa saying, ‘Deleted, deleted, deleted,’” Molly said. “Congratulations. You just broke my husband.”

“I”m going to remember that for crime scenes,” Sally said, as she took another sip. “That ought to keep him in line.”

“So they don’t like him, so what?” Molly continued. “I mean, your parents are lovely, but they can’t be the end all and be all for relationships. Hell, their parents didn’t even approve of their relationship until you were born. You mum didn’t even get Aunt Tessie until you came along.”

Sally sighed. “I don’t know,” she said. “They’ve always liked the guys well enough -- I mean, they’d bring out Aunt Tessie right away.”

“Have you ever considered that they brought out the test knowing that those guys wouldn’t do it?” Molly said.

Sally stopped and her memory flickered back to the disappointment of watching the men reject Aunt Tessie with various tactful excuses. Suddenly she remembered the expressions on her parents’ faces -- not disappointed, but relieved. It was a quick flash to be replaced by manners, but she remembered it. And she recalled seeing their flaws afterwards -- the inability to listen to her talk about her work, how their eyes wandered towards others, when they discussed things, how Sally felt she had to tamper down her words, instead of speaking what was on her mind for fear of what? Losing them? Losing them was the best thing that happened to her, she realized later.

They knew those boys were bad matches for her, Sally thought. They brought out Aunt Tessie knowing they wouldn’t be willing to commit to her the way she had committed to them. And now that she found someone who was willing to take her for who she was, they were going to deny Aunt Tessie? _Those bastards_ , she thought to herself.

“You know,” she began, “Being married to a self-proclaimed genius is doing wonders for you.”

Molly chuckled. “Don’t tell Sherlock that,” she said. “His ego is already massive enough as is.”

Sally’s phone pinged, indicating there was an incoming text message. She pulled it away and stared at it.

_Having a drink with your parents. If you want, meet me at Princess Victoria._

“Oh no,” Sally moaned. “No, no, no, no, no.”

“What?” Molly began.

“He’s taking matters into his own hands.”

~*~

Gareth Donovan was a man of simple pleasures -- he liked a good pint and good company. So when Mycroft returned to their house before he was going to lock up for the night and offered to buy him and Jalissa a pint at the Princess Victoria, he wasn’t going to say no.

But he was going ask, “Aren’t they closed? It is late.”

Mycroft gave him an imperious look. “Not for me,” he said.

Gareth nodded, unfazed. Anyone who wore those types of suits could open up a pub anytime they wanted, he figured. “Fair enough,” he said. “The missus might need some talking to, but the drinks are on you right?”

“Of course.”

“Then it should be easy to convince her,” Gareth grinned.

~*~

“Are you going to murder him?” Molly asked over the phone as Sally shucked off her pajama bottoms and pulled on her jeans.

“I can’t make promises,” Sally retorted as she wrestled herself back into her bra and pulled a jumper over her head. “What the hell is he thinking? Oh wait, I know, It’s ‘I’m Mycroft Holmes and I know better than anyone else in how to fix this situation --’”  her voice dropped an octave and she began imitating his public school accent.

Molly’s giggle brightened up the phone lines. “Are you going to maim him?”

Sally pulled her socks on, “No,” she admitted, before putting on her shoes. “But I’m terrified of what will happen if they get the full Mycroft Holmes experience.”

“They will be fine,” Molly said -- ever the optimist, Sally thought. “They have you in their back pocket and he wouldn’t do anything to hurt your relationship with him.”

“Oh I’m not worried about them,” Sally said as she grabbed a coat and headed out the door. “I’m concerned they’ll tear him apart.”

~*~

The Princess Victoria was a sizable pub located in a Victorian building. The bright blue walls of the pub were dimmed and Mycroft sat at a table, waiting with two pints for the Donovans, and a glass of Scotch for himself. The entire pub was empty, which was just how Mycroft liked it.

Ten minutes later, the Donovans arrived. Jalissa, her face slightly pale (not from fear, Mycroft noted, but that she had removed her makeup and performed the necessary bedtime rituals before being dragged unceremoniously out), but still wearing what she had worn at the party. Gareth was dressed the same and he had his arm protectively slung around the shoulder of his wife.

He stood. “Mr. Donovan, Mrs. Donovan,” he motioned to the chairs.

They eased into the chairs, and glanced at the pints, before taking a sip.

“Nice,” Gareth commented. “I suppose I should’ve asked if they were poisoned, but really, it’s flattering knowing that you know what we like after a few short hours.”

Jalissa savored hers. “He can’t kill us love,” she commented. “Sally would dump him in a heartbeat for that as well as murder him and I’m fairly certain Molly would help her hide the body.”

An involuntary smile flickered across Mycroft’s face. “I now understand where she gets that insouciance from,” he said.

They chuckled. After a moment, Gareth finally spoke. “What’s this all about then?”

“Aunt Tessie.”

“Ah, but you should be glad we didn’t put you to that test,” Jalissa said. “You still have a way out my dear.”

Mycroft smiled a tight smile. “I thought about it earlier, after I dropped Sally off at her flat and I wondered why I didn’t get Aunt Tessie when she told me that all her previous suitors had gotten to meet her immediately.

“The answer was obvious,” he said. “You were using Aunt Tessie as a way to show Sally how you thought they weren’t a right fit for her. Eventually she would have figured it out those people weren’t a good match -- probably because they were dull and witless -- but you hastened that.”

Jalissa and Gareth smiled into their glasses.

“By giving them Aunt Tessie early, with a very good guess that they would reject it, you didn’t have to voice your disapproval of them -- they did it themselves by rejecting her family, who is very important to her. But in this case, you knew I wouldn’t reject it, probably from a fond glance in her direction or how I speak of her,” Mycroft sipped his drink. “So you have to express your disapproval in another way and that is to deny the test for as long as possible.”

The smiles faded slightly, but not enough to worry Mycroft. They both seemed pleased that he had figured out their game.

“My only question is, why do you think I am not worthy of your daughter?” Mycroft asked.

There was a long silence as Jalissa and Gareth took a sip of their pints. They glanced at each other, then Jalissa finally spoke.

“Why her?” she leaned back in her chair and leveled a stare at Mycroft. “Frankly, you don’t seem to be the type to come down --” there was a hint of sarcasm in that last sentence, “-- and date girls like my daughter. You’re the type to pair up with Kate MIddleton types -- pretty, sweet, well-to-do and of no opinion whatsoever.”

“We don’t trust you,” Gareth continued. “You’re older, never been married and suddenly you’re pledging eternal devotion to our girl? That’s something Jude Law does, and I wouldn’t trust him with my girl. Are you just looking for a bit of rough, slumming it and when someone proper that looks good on your arm comes along, you’ll leave her behind, broken-hearted? So answer us -- why does Taffy want our girl?”

Mycroft took a long sip of his drink, savoring the way it burned. “I will admit, that until recently I have not been a man to cultivate relationships outside of business,” he began. “I have never married, never had a long-term relationship with anyone outside of family. I do not like sentiment. I do not like the vast majority of humanity -- they are dull. I could barely keep my patience around your family for one night --”

Jalissa snorted. Mycroft smiled at that -- it was clear that she shared some of his sentiment.

“We were wondering if you had a drug problem, given how long you were in the bathroom,” Gareth admitted with a wry smile.

Mycroft smiled thinly. “In most of my interactions with people, they ask me for things and I help  them,” he continued. “I am not used to people seeking my company without motivations. Did she tell you that the first time we met, she told me to fuck off?”

Her parents laughed at that. “That sounds familiar,” Gareth admitted.

“Afterwards, I asked her for coffee, because I was intrigued by her and she rejected me,” Mycroft smiled at the memory. “No one does that because they may need a favor from me later and I am a useful ally. I never anticipated seeing her again, but we met again two years later at a chip shop. Despite her guarded demeanor, there was a warmth to her, which puzzled me. She was friendly without asking for anything in return. Through an unspoken agreement, we kept meeting there weekly.”

He sipped his drink again, “I hate discussing this,” he said slowly. “I loathe sentiment, but that is why I continued to keep those unsaid appointments. I like her company and it was clear she liked mine. I thought I could control myself and be content with cordial meetings, but when she asked me for coffee, I could not resist.”

Mycroft finished his drink, then poured himself a half-glass, “I am not going to leave her heartbroken,” he continued. “I have accepted the fact that she will leave me brokenhearted, be it her leaving me or by her eventual death, if I do not precede her.  All hearts are broken. But I knew that was going to happen when I agreed to her invitation. I love her and made a promise to always be hers.”

Jalissa and Gareth glanced at each other. There was something unspoken in the looks exchanged -- one of those advantages of being in a relationship so long, Mycroft mused. While their body language was less guarded, it far from friendly.

“OK,” Jalissa began. “You want to prove to us you’re serious about our girl?”

Mycroft nodded.

“Come again for dinner,” Gareth said. “Keep coming back. She may love you, but you have to convince us.”

He sighed in annoyance. “Must I?” Mycroft tried not to make his voice sound petulant, but the whining tone leaked out.

Jalissa chuckled. “Yes,” she said. “I want to know more about the boy who my girl is devoted to,” she leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table, a mischievous smile on her face.

“But there are so many of you,” Mycroft began. _How the devil do they do that?_ he thought to himself. _How the hell are they making me feel like I am a young boy again? Is this something all parents can do?_

 _It’s obvious_ , his mind answered. _These two shaped Sally and you drop your facade around her, so you can not help but let the mask slip a little. Look at the smile on her face and that twinkle in his eye -- Sally’s smiled like that at you also. They want the same thing you want -- to make her happy._

“It was overwhelming,” he admitted.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jalissa replied. “I’ll tell you something right now -- when I married Gareth we were frozen out of both sides of the family for nine long years. The prodigal children, until Sally came along and with her we all realized how foolish we were. Relatives had died, I had new nieces and nephews during that time that I couldn’t see, until Sally came along. We’re making up for lost time. You may call it overwhelming, but this is who we are.”

Sally had told him about her parents -- the disapproval from both sides over their elopement and the years of estrangement. It was all very Romeo and Juliet (a play he loathed until he started seeing it as a political drama about two powerful families destroyed by their hormonal children), but then again, many relationships had that element of drama in them. This was obviously important to them, and as a result, it would be important to Sally, despite how annoying it could be for her.

“You don’t have to stay the whole time or come every week,” Gareth said kindly. “But if you are around for the long haul, you will be a member of this family.”

“And Aunt Tessie?”

Gareth glanced at Jalissa -- another unspoken conversation -- before turning his attention back to Mycroft. “We’re not saying yes and we’re not saying no,” he said. “This is more of a ‘persuade us.’ Keep coming back and maybe you’ll be rewarded one day.”

Mycroft couldn’t help but quirk his lips into a smile. “I now see where she gets it from,” he said, head tilting into a slight nod. “Fair enough.”

They finished their drinks in a silence that wasn’t icy, but not cozy either. Not that Mycroft minded -- he actually liked how self-possessed Sally’s parents were. They didn’t need to make conversation when there was none to be had, which was irritating. Mycroft felt like his accomplished something. It wasn’t everything he wanted, but it was better than earlier that night.

Gareth checked his watch. “If you’ll excuse us,” he said, standing and extending his hand to Mycroft. “We have to get going. It’s past our bedtime.”

Mycroft shook Gareth’s hand. “Thank you,” he said. “Have a good evening.”

Jalissa scooped him up into a hug. He stiffened. He could feel her body shake in laughter knowing that she had rattled him. Standing on her tip-toes, she brushed her lips across his cheek. “Oh she’s going to have fun with you,” she murmured into his ear, before taking Gareth’s arm and heading out into the night.

Mycroft touched his hand to his cheek, still feeling the warmth and pressure of Jalissa’s body against his. _Broughton women are magic_ , Gareth’s voice echoed in his head and he smiled a small, private smile.

He had enough time to pour a pint for Sally before she burst through the doors of the pub, looking a bit harried. Seeing him leaning up against the bar, she pointed a finger at him. “You!” she exclaimed.

Mycroft pointed to the pint on the bar. “I’m glad you could join me,” he said.

“Where the hell are my parents? Did you put them in a hole somewhere? Did you poison them?” She stalked over to him, eyes blazing.

Mycroft shook his head. “They are at home,” he began. “I did not put them in a hole nor did I poison them,” he sipped his drink. “We had a conversation. It was enlightening.”

Sally pulled out her mobile and punched numbers into it so hard that he was worried she’d shatter the screen. “Yeah, Dad?” she said into the phone, “I’m here with Mycroft --”

Mycroft couldn’t tell what Gareth was saying, but it must have been favorable, because the angry stance faded and Sally’s shoulders eased a bit.

“I see --” she said. “He didn’t poison you or anything?” Gareth’s answer must have been truthful because she barked out a laugh. “You should’ve gotten the most expensive thing here -- Yes, I know they’re closed --,” she glared at Mycroft. “I don’t know how he does it,” she lied, “But he does. It’s a toff thing.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. He was never going to hear the end of it with her family.

The conversation eased, “Yeah,” Sally said. “OK, thanks. I’ll talk to you later,” she smiled into the phone. “Love you too. Bye.” She hung up and took the pint, taking a long, deep sip. She glanced at him, lashes framing her dark eyes. “I can not believe you,” she said.

“I wanted to address the issue,” he replied.

“At least you didn’t kidnap them and force them into some dank room with terrible tea.”

“That would be a bit much,” he said. “But I also wanted to speak to them on my terms, where I could control the situation,” he finished his drink. “Odds are quite good that I will never have that much control over a Donovan ever again.”

Sally burst out laughing. “You madman,” she said. “How did you know they’d agree to this?”

“I offered to pay,” Mycroft replied, “And asking nicely helped.”

Sally leaned against the bar. Mycroft tried not to blatantly stare at how her breasts were pushed out and the graceful lines of her neck and shoulders. She studied him for moment and smiled broadly.

“So what did you say to them?”

“The truth,” Mycroft loosened his tie. “I made my intentions regarding you crystal clear.”

He was rewarded with another peal of laughter from her. “They got the full Mycroft Holmes sentimental treatment?” Sally put a hand to her forehead and mock-swooned. “You really are a character from an Austen novel.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. He took one of her hands in his and gently placed a kiss on it, before moving to the inside of her wrist and savoring the way she sighed under his ministrations. “Your mother was correct,” he murmured, lips working up her arm, as he slid the jumper sleeve up.

“How so?”

He pulled away and with one hand gently tipped her head so she was looking him in the eyes. Her eyes glittered with merriment and something darker and sweeter swam underneath and for a moment (not that he would ever admit this), Mycroft believed that Sally was magic.

He moved closer, lips brushing along her ear as he spoke, “You are going to have a lot of fun with me.”

She turned her head and their lips connected in an easy, familiar kiss that quickly deepened. He could tell she had been drinking rum earlier (probably while talking with Molly about the entire incident) and taste the hops in the ale, but there was something else there that eluded him, which he realized he would probably spend a lifetime trying to figure out. After a long while, Sally pulled away, before sprinkling a few quick kisses on his lips and taking a deep breath.

“I’ll have a lot of fun with you,” she purred, “but not in this pub.” And with that, she took him by the hand and led him out the door and into the night.

~*~

A month later, Mycroft returned to the Donovan household for Sunday dinner. Some of it was Sally broadly hinting that he needed to make an appearance (“If you do not come to Sunday dinner, I am dropping my parents off at Diogenes and you can deal with all the questions they’ve been asking me about you for an afternoon.”) and some of it was that he had been delayed thanks to turbulent China-Vietnam relations which needed a gentle outsider’s touch.

The fact that this Sunday dinner gave him the perfect excuse to avoid a showing of Phantom of the Opera with his parents and dump that duty on Sherlock and Molly was completely irrelevant.

Currently he was sitting in the garden, glass of beer in his hand and attempting to ignore all the sounds around him. Ruthie had already crawled all over him and the little sneak nearly ran off with his pocket watch and mobile as Meggie had distracted him with more invasive questions about his personal life -- his personal favorites were, “Do you even own a t-shirt? Have you ever worn trainers? What do you wear to sleep? A tuxedo?”

One of the dogs -- the mutt -- was currently asleep on his feet, snuffling and snoring. Sometimes the dog would roll to the side, then emit a long, odiferous blast of flatulence that had him inwardly wincing. He made a mental note to see if Charlie had gone for the list of home nurses for his friend Freddie, so Charlie could be rid of the canines. Not that he passed the list onto Charlie himself -- he merely let the information leak through the proper channels, in this case Sally to Jalissa to Charlie.

He would give it another ten minutes before he went upstairs to the spare bedroom and hide out where a small group of children were huddled together, staring at a tablet and building something complicated in Minecraft. That room was blessedly quiet, save for the children occasionally murmuring ideas to expand their roller coaster sky castle with the sheep in pens and torch shop.

The fact that it also had pictures of an awkward looking Sally Donovan, age 17, on the walls along with a few of her favorite books, was besides the point. Frankly he never pegged her for a romantic with Pride and Prejudice obviously well worn, but he was pleased to have fodder to tease her later.

“I’m telling you, if you wind up in jail, you are not allowed to call me,” Sally said, grabbing a seat next to Mycroft.

“I have yet to get into trouble,” a young, attractive redheaded woman sat next to her. “I can’t help it if people think I’m Karen Gilligan’s sister,” she slid into a Scottish accent and widened her eyes winsomely. “I mean, I’m not encouraging it. Not one bit.”

“Bollocks,” Sally laughed into her beer, then elbowed Mycroft out of his reverie. “Mycroft,” she nodded at him, “This is my cousin Antonia.”

Antonia held her hand out and shook it with Mycroft. “This is the one everyone’s been fussing about?” she asked. “You been hanging out at Parliament Sally? He looks like an MP”

The two women laughed. “Well,” Mycroft said, “Sally does have a bit of a thirst for power.”

He felt her kick him under the chair and smiled as the dog whined a protest, rose and fled from its resting spot.

“Antonia’s a student over at LAMDA,” Sally said. “She’s really good at impersonations. Which will probably land her into jail soon enough.”

Antonia’s features shifted and suddenly she resembled the actress who played Emma Messinger in The Thick of It. Mycroft made note of this. “What do you do with your impersonations?” he asked.

She shrugged, “Well, whenever there’s the press nights for plays and they leave comp tickets, I just go and pick them up to see a show,” she admitted. “I’ve gone over going, ‘Yes, yes, I’m Mark Gatiss’ niece. I work over at the BBC and he said I could have the tickets for tonight’s show,’” -- she adopted a light Geordie accent, “-- and then I get in,” she glanced over at Mycroft. “The statute of limitations on that one just passed,” she quickly added.

Mycroft’s ears perked up. “Do tell me more,” he said, leaning forward and turning on the charm. “After all, an ear for accents and impersonations is quite a talent for an actress.”

Antonia’s face lit up as she began reeling off tales of getting into nightclubs -- “Yeah, Tom Jones is my dad,” she said with a Welsh accent -- and sneaking into conventions -- “You go down into the costume department at LAMDA, get the right outfit and go to the convention,” she explained. “I’ve been a dental hygienist from Cornwall and met Sir Terry Pratchett. He really liked my Magrat costume. Such a charming old coot.”

The chat was brief, since Antonia had to leave -- “I’ve got tickets to the new Stoppard play,” she explained, kissing Sally on the cheek.

“Whose relative are you now?” Sally asked.

“No one’s,” Antonia replied. “My mates are in it, so I want to support them. Will you come around and watch sometime?”

Sally shrugged. “E-mail me the details and I’ll see,” she said.

“Bring Taffy,” Antonia nodded towards Mycroft. “We could use a bit of money to spruce up the place”

After she left, Mycroft leaned over to Sally, “You introduced me to her for a reason,” he whispered into her ear.

She glanced over at him and smiled sweetly, “What do you mean?” she asked. “I thought you’d find her interesting.”

“She is interesting,” he said. “And possibly valuable if she’s as good at accents as you say she is.”

Sally bumped her body against his. “Hey, no using of my relatives,” she said. “Unless you pay her well enough to keep her out of trouble.”

There was a silence between the two of them as a flock of children ran screaming out the door, shrieking wildly and chasing the smallest dog -- who was wearing a pink tutu for some reason. The sound of an adult yelling, “AND STAY OUT UNTIL YOU CAN LEARN TO KEEP QUIET DURING THE MATCH,” echoed throughout the garden.

Mycroft winced. “How long have we been here?” he asked.

Sally checked her watch. “Forty-five minutes,” she kissed him gently on the cheek. “We’ll leave soon. You’ve done good -- you made conversation and people know you exist. That’ll do.”

He took her hand. “I may need a week to recover. How do you do this?”

Sally shrugged. “Why do you think I like being around you? You’re quieter than this mess.”

Sally’s mobile pinged and she stared at it. “Oh dear,” she began giggling. “Have you checked your phone?”

She showed her phone to him.

_Sally -- give this to Mycroft. WHY DOES THE PHANTOM’S LAIR LOOK LIKE A BAD GOTHIC BORDELLO? WHY ARE THERE ELECTRIC GUITARS? CAN YOU EXPLAIN CHRISTINE’S ELECTRA COMPLEX? AND WHY HASN’T ANYONE INSPECTED THE CHANDELIER?_

Mycroft shrugged it off. “That explains why my mobile was buzzing merrily this whole time,” he said.

Sally began laughing as her mobile pinged again. “It’s Molly,” she said between giggles.

_Sally -- I’m sorry, we got booted from the show. Sherlock couldn’t stop complaining, even with his mother stomping on his foot to silence him. We can’t do this again. I’m sorry._

Mycroft read the message and sighed. “I suppose I will have to see Mamma Mia,” he said, before his eyes lit up.

“Oh no,” Sally said. “I know that look. No.”

“How do your parents feel about musicals?”

 


End file.
